Wolf turned to see Baron smirking at him. The guy was barefooted and in shorts, showing off a muscular barrel chest decorated with faded, clumsy tattoos. He had a kettlebell in one hand, and with his free hand he casually flipped Wolf off, radiating smug self-assurance. Anger gunned through Wolf at the sight of him. His fists suddenly itched with the need to wipe that smirk off Baron’s face.
“Still pretty,” Wolf answered him, glancing around. The gym was still quiet, nobody was paying attention to them. “You want another crack at it, cocksucker?”
Baron laughed, setting down the kettlebell. “Bitch, you think you’re safe in here? It’ll be a pleasure to beat your ass anywhere you want.”
“Here works for me.” They were on an open matted area, free of any other equipment or gym-users. There was no sense trying to brawl with Baron – not because Wolf didn’t think he could take the jackass, but because they’d be booted out as soon as someone else realised it was happening. But the mats were perfect for some old-fashioned grappling, and Wolf had a feeling that wasn’t Baron’s strong point. Get the fucker down fast, and Wolf could have him wrapped in some painful submission hold before Baron even knew what was happening. He rubbed his palms together, grinning. Payback time.
“Come at me, fucker,” he challenged Baron. “Let’s see what you got when it’s one-on-one.”
Baron clapped his hands together and charged without warning, fist already swinging. Fucking amateur. Wolf ducked under the incoming blow and grabbed Baron’s thigh, shoving him down to the mat effortlessly. Baron went down with a grunt, the air knocked out of him. Before he had a chance to recover, Wolf switched positions, locking both his legs around Baron’s right leg and trapping his foot in Wolf’s armpit. From there, he pinned Baron’s ankle with his forearm and twisted his whole body, generating a painful torque on the ankle.
The heel hook was considered highly dangerous, banned in a lot of combat sports. Wolf grinned in pleasure as Baron roared in pain, thrashing on the mat in a vain attempt to dislodge him. “Tap, bitch,” Wolf said, increasing the pressure. You could really fuck up a guy’s knee with this kind of leg lock, and Wolf felt no remorse about the pain Baron was clearly in. He’d release the hold as soon as the idiot tapped out.
But Baron didn’t. He simply twisted and yelled, face beet-red, and tried to squirm free of the hold. Wolf gritted his teeth and turned up the pressure again. “Tap, bitch!” he shouted, picturing Shango in Baron’s place, feeling a deep, dark satisfaction at the thought.